


Headmistress of his heart

by Ms_SackvilleWest



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attraction, Augusta Longbottom's influence, Catsuit, F/M, Halloween, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Herbology Professor Neville Longbottom, Hogwarts Greenhouses, Masturbation, McGonabottom, Oedipal Issues, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Rare Pairings, Rare Relationships, Roleplay, Slytherin Draco Malfoy, Spanking, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26771179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_SackvilleWest/pseuds/Ms_SackvilleWest
Summary: It's Halloween night at Hogwarts. Professor Neville Longbottom's mouth drops as Headmistress McGonagall walks into the Great Hall in an outfit that should surely be illegal.Impossibly aroused, he flees to the greenhouses. But will he be able to escape the attention of the catsuit-clad seductress of his cock?Anything can happen in a stormy night...
Relationships: Neville Longbottom/Minerva McGonagall
Comments: 14
Kudos: 7
Collections: Wangs and Fangs: A Halloween Cross-Gen Fest





	1. A most seductive sight

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the wonderful adavison and meditationsinemergencies for organising this fun fest - and m. for their fantastic beta help! 
> 
> I'm afraid I got a bit carried away with this unexpected yet sinfully sexy pairing, which led to the current word count transgression... I do apologise! Perhaps I too need to be taught a lesson by Headmistress McGonagall ;)
> 
> Enjoy :*

When Neville entered the Great Hall, he couldn’t believe his eyes. His colleagues had really outdone themselves with the Halloween decorations this year.

Storm clouds gathered on the magical ceiling as hundreds of candles flickered over their heads, casting an eerie glow through the darkened Hall. Mist crept over the floor, winding itself around his ankles like a graveyard breath.

On each of the little tables scattered through the Hall, the magically enlarged pumpkins he’d harvested earlier grimaced and flickered. In the middle of the dance floor stood a towering oak with blackened branches.

Neville hadn’t been present to help his colleagues with the decorations for the feast.

He shifted guiltily, thinking about how disappointed his Gran had always been when he’d tried to get out of cleaning his room as a little boy.

But Malfoy had come to his office earlier with a sudden but seemingly urgent request for some potion ingredient, so he’d felt compelled to go harvest it for his colleague before the feast, and the work had taken him a while.

Luckily, it didn’t look like his colleagues had needed his help.

“What do you think?” Professor Flitwick appeared, bouncing eagerly on his feet.

“It’s absolutely perfect,” Neville breathed. He nodded at the tree, its silhouette sharp and foreboding. “Is that…?”

“The one struck down by lightning in the Forbidden Forest last month? Yes, Hagrid carried it in this morning!” Filius could barely contain his excitement. “Watch this,” he snapped his fingers at the tree.

Sudden cawing echoed through the Hall as the tree’s branches transformed into an unkindness of ravens. They flew up and descended at them, flapping their wide wings in the darkness.

Neville ducked in panic, but Filius chuckled and snapped his fingers again.

In the blink of an eye, the ravens had settled back onto the tree stump and turned into branches once more.

“Just a little spell Minerva has been perfecting”, Filius beamed. “Rather good, wouldn’t you say?”

“Very,” Neville agreed, dusting himself off. He’d always been impressed by the Headmistress’ wandwork. Her magic was incredibly precise and controlled, but he knew a heady amount of power lay behind it. Sometimes, he secretly wondered if —

“Oh, here come the first ones now!” Filius exclaimed.

A gaggle of excited Hufflepuff first-years entered the Hall, dressed up as unicorns, elves and what looked like a pygmy puff. Their mouths dropped as they took in the decorations, until a charmed skeleton sprang up behind them and made them yelp with fright and delight.

Two Ravenclaws with mermaid tails were next to arrive, and soon the Hall was buzzing with students in their best Halloween costumes.

“Right, better do a few rounds before the band starts,” Filius rubbed his hands together before disappearing into the crowd.

Neville walked towards the front of the Hall, where the head table had been pushed back to make way for a stage.

“Alright, lads?” he nodded at the singers, who were strumming their instruments and wearing hardcore-punk versions of vicar cassocks.

From his spot next to the stage, he could keep an eye on the whole hall.

He caught sight of Rose, who waved at him enthusiastically, reminding him of Ron. He smiled back at the girl. She’d explained to him earlier that she was wearing an “Alice in Wonderland” costume. He hadn’t quite understood the reference but figured it was a character from a Muggle story Hermione had introduced her daughter to.

“Arright Hogwaaaaaaarts!” the band’s lead singer shouted, stepping into the spotlight. “Are you ready to get shit-scaaaaaared?!”

The crowd cheered.

“We are the Hinkypunks, and we are ready to ROCK!!!”

With a deafening guitar solo, the performance kicked off and the students went wild on the dancefloor.

“Ugh, it’s simply appalling what children will call _music_ these days,” a voice drawled on his right.

Neville chuckled. Malfoy always pretended to hate chaperoning duty, but he knew the school’s Potions Master secretly loved Hogwarts’ traditions.

“What, you want them to waltz to Strauss instead?” he turned to his colleague, remembering the ballroom dance lessons his Gran had made him take.

“I never said that, Longbottom. I just meant someone should educate these philistines and make sure they develop a semblance of taste,” Malfoy responded haughtily.

Neville took in his colleague’s costume. The man was the picture of aristocracy, as always. The raised collar of his sweeping, black cape accentuated the pallor of his features. He wore a refined top hat, hair slicked back.

Malfoy caught Neville watching him and flashed him a grin. His incisors gleamed in the candlelight. A vampire. Neville bit his lip. He would never come even close to exuding that kind of effortless elegance.

“And what are _you_ supposed to be tonight? Bit skimpy, that outfit,” Malfoy smirked.

Neville looked down at himself — dragonhide boots, a pair of uncomfortably tight leather trousers borrowed from Charlie Weasley, with actual singe marks on them, and what Hannah had once assured him was a “fucking hot” leather waistcoat.

He suddenly felt horribly self-conscious.

WHY had he decided at the very last minute to not wear a shirt under the waistcoat? What had he been thinking?? Oh, he knew what he had been thinking: He’d remembered how Hannah, back when they were still dating, had also mentioned at some point that she liked his “manly” chest.

“You’ve become so handsome, Neville,” her words had been. “I’ll never get enough of those muscles. And that stubble along your jaw! You could be the Witch Weekly centrefold!”

At the time, it had made him feel almost as proud as when he’d killed Nagini.

But now, standing in the Great Hall next to Malfoy, he felt utterly ridiculous. He was supposed to be a teacher chaperoning his students, not some kind of ridiculous Indiana Jack, or whatever that film was Harry had tried to get him to watch!

“Erm,” he mumbled, “...a dragon tamer?”

Malfoy threw his head back and burst out laughing. “Well, as long as the ladies love it, right?” he patted Neville on the back.

Neville thanked his lucky stars the Great Hall was so dark tonight as he felt heat explode over his cheeks.

“Mmm,” he looked down, fidgeting with his waistcoat.

“Oh chin up, Longbottom. I’m actually rather impressed with this sartorial boldness, who knows which wild animals you’ll attract tonight, eh?” Malfoy’s eyes twinkled.

“You should get back into the game really, it’s been years since Hannah. I’ve actually been thinking you should let that inner dragon tamer loose… Set your eyes on some feisty specimen.”

Neville thought of his Gran's letters lately, every one of which seemed to contain a new suggestion of a “ _proper, well-mannered young lady from a very well-respected family who I’m sure would be delighted to make your acquaintance_.”

He dreaded the arrival of the morning post these days.

On the dance floor in front of them, a seventh-year dressed as a pharaoh was dancing with his girlfriend. He looked at the way their hips were grinding and resolutely turned back to Malfoy.

“Anyways,” he cleared his throat. “We should probably be helping the other teachers make sure nothing untoward happens tonight, right? I’ll go find Aurora and Sybil.”

“Mmm,” Malfoy responded but didn’t move. He held Neville’s gaze. “I can go see if Minerva’s around as well.”

At the mention of her name, his whole body grew hot. Like he’d just barely escaped the flames of a Chinese Fireball dragon.

He met Malfoy’s eyes with as neutral a gaze as he could manage. “Sure! Excellent plan. You do that. I’ll just, I’ll go then.”

Neville turned around so quickly he almost walked straight through Nearly-Headless Nick.

“Oh Merlin, sorry Nick, too crowded in here tonight!”

“Nothing to worry about, Professor Longbottom,” Gryffindor’s residential ghost nodded at him in good humour. “Only to be expected on this hallowed eve. Splendid party so far, wouldn’t you say? Even the Baron seems to be having a good time!”

They looked to where the Bloody Baron was floating by one of the windows. As the band announced it would play one of its biggest hits, his face remained a picture of murderous misery.

“Erm, yeah, he seems to be having a blast,” Neville smiled politely.

Just then, Professor Sinistra rushed past. “OI! Don’t even think about it!” she shouted at two Slytherins trying to pour a bottle of Firewhisky into the punch.

“Better go help her out,” he quickly apologised to Nick and Malfoy and made his way through throngs of sweaty students to the drinks table near the entrance.

Just then, the doors of the Great Hall swung open and his heart did a wild Quaffle dive.

“Oh sweet Circe,” he breathed, all the blood rushing to his crotch.

In walked Minerva McGonagall, in what had to be the most scandalous outfit Hogwarts had ever seen.

More than a few others seemed to notice as well, as whispers started up, heads turned.

“You two!” the Headmistress’ voice lashed out. She stalked into the Hall to join Professor Sinistra, who had cornered the two Slytherins and confiscated their booze.

He could hardly breathe as his eyes followed her.

Minerva McGonagall was wearing a black latex catsuit. It accentuated her body and left _nothing_ to the imagination.

A cat-ear mask covered her eyes, somehow making her look both naughty and dangerous at the same time, and — oh Merlin help him — the suit wasn’t zipped up all the way to the top, revealing just a hint of cleavage.

He groaned in desperation.

This. This was exactly why he was madly attracted to older women.

“Ten points from Slytherin, you two, and detention if I catch you anywhere near the drinks table again tonight!”

Especially older women in a position of power.

He shifted, desperately wishing his trousers weren’t so tight. But he couldn’t look away.

The Headmistress turned and caught him staring at her. One of the corners of her mouth twitched up. She began to walk towards him.

Panicking, he took a step back, bumping into a student and almost making her spill her drink over her dress.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!” he gasped.

The Headmistress was getting closer now, latex stretching over her hips as she moved. Her stiletto heels clicked against the stone floors.

“Professor Longbottom,” she purred. “Good evening.”

He was going to die tonight. That much was sure.


	2. Trapped, he had to get away

A few minutes into their chat, during which he’d managed to stammer out some monosyllabic responses while doing everything in his power to _not look at her breasts_ , he was saved by Professor Flitwick.

Making a quick excuse (more like a squeak than an excuse, but now wasn’t the time to worry about his manners), he fled into the crowd.

During the rest of the night, he did his very best to stay as far away from the Headmistress as possible. He really did. But even all the way across the Hall, where he was hiding behind Hagrid’s hulking form, he felt his gaze drawn to her.

She was magnificent.

She wasn’t even dancing, didn’t even look at him. She just stood talking with Aurora and Rolanda in a corner. But it was as if he _felt_ her presence, a magnetic pull on his body across the mass of writhing, stomping, howling students dancing to the music.

Now and then she would laugh at something the others said, throw back her head and reveal that slender throat — the candlelight licking her skin. Or she’d shift, leaning back against the wall with one hip pushed forward.

So nonchalant. So in control. _So maddeningly sexy she might as well eat him alive on the spot._

He swallowed and wiped his brow, feeling sweaty and feverish. Was he under some kind of spell that evening? Or was it the storm brewing outside?

He looked up at the ceiling. The sky had turned an ominous purplish black, the first raindrops starting to fall.

She didn’t seem to notice, just nodding as Rolanda told a story. Smoothly, she lifted her glass to her lips and took a sip of wine. He’d always felt drawn to her animal grace — maybe something of the cat in her. It was the way she made him feel helpless. Like a mouse caught in her claws.

As she brought her glass back down, he could have sworn her eyes flickered through the Hall and met his for the briefest of seconds. Her fingers slowly played with the stem.

Up, down, up, down.

He gulped and forced himself to look at the stage instead.

“We’re nearing the end of our set, but this next one is a favourite — Veelas of the Night!”

The roar of the crowd was almost as deafening as the sudden thunderclap outside. Rain now pelted against the windows. The lead singer grabbed the mic and tore off his cassock in a single rip, students screaming and swooning at his feet.

A sultry bass reverberated through the Hall.

“Good gracious, if they keep this up we’ll have an orgy on our hands by the end of the night!”

Malfoy had joined him again and was observing the onstage writhing with interest.

“Not your cup of tea?” Neville asked, glad for the distraction.

“Oh, the music remains entirely subpar,” the blond smiled slyly. “As for the orgy — let’s say I don’t mind when the temperature goes up a few degrees...”

Neville looked at the crowd. Lightning illuminated their faces like a strobe light, ecstasy in their eyes as they sang along. The rhythm was low and dirty.

“Your eyes, drrrrrawing me in from across the room, your body beckoning meeeee and I cannot resist!”

It was hard to hear anything over the music and the storm raging outside.

Malfoy grabbed his arm, pulling him closer to sing the chorus into his ear. He should have known the man was secretly a fan. His breath was hot against Neville’s ear.

“VEELA! The thrust of your hips, driving me wild!”

The beat was hypnotising, Malfoy’s fingers too warm around his biceps.

“VEELA! Tasting your sweat, tongue gliding low!”

Bodies were grinding all around, their dancing frantic. The room smelled of sex.

“VEELA! I want you inside, want you tonight!”

He looked up and caught the Headmistress looking straight at him. She arched one perfect eyebrow. For a split second, nothing happened.

Then she brought her index finger to her mouth. And, agonisingly slowly, sucked it into her mouth.

It was positively obscene.

With a cry, he wrenched his arm from Malfoy’s grip and threw himself towards the nearest exit. He had to get out of the castle, out, out, away from her!

***

He ran through the corridors, flying past portraits, tripping over the foot of a harness, heard it clattering to the floor behind him but he couldn’t stop, had to get out of there, almost took the wrong staircase, slipping and tripping down the moving stairs, down the great marble staircase, across the Entrance Hall and through the great oak doors -

 _outside_.

He was outside. Panting hard and clutching at a stitch in his chest. The storm raged, rain lashing across the grounds. Within seconds, he was drenched. But he didn’t mind.

The cold on his face and against his bare chest was calming, a much-needed cool-off after the heat of the party inside. His heartbeat steadied and slowed down.

When he thought of the Headmistress fellating her finger, he quickly shook his head, banishing the image.

He’d probably imagined the whole thing! Maybe those Slytherins had gotten to the punch after all. Or maybe it was the tightness of his trousers. How Charlie was able to do his job wearing such distracting clothes, he’d never know.

Taking a deep breath, he peered into the night. Thunder rumbled over the mountains in the distance and he heard the waves of the lakes sloshing wildly against the shore.

Maybe he should visit the greenhouses. Make sure the herbs he’d harvested for Malfoy were drying properly. Perhaps look in on the Mandrakes. Yes, that would be perfect, actually: some quiet time alone in the greenhouses.

The wind howled as he set off across the lawns. It was dark as the deepest dungeon, the stars hidden from sight. Only the lantern outside Hagrid’s hut provided a feeble light to guide him on his way.

He shivered in his costume, wishing he’d worn a shirt after all as he made his way along the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Wait —

What was that sound?

He paused, peering into the darkness. The rain hammered down on the canopy of the trees. He held his breath, remembering the horrors Ron and Harry had told him about after their detention in the forest…

But surely there wouldn’t be anything this close to the edge of the Forest? Or would there?

He stood and listened.

No… it was probably nothing. But just as he turned to go, he caught it again — a branch breaking. As though someone (or something) had stepped on it! He whirled around, whipping out his wand.

“Who’s there?!”

Neville took on a duelling pose, only a slight tremor to his wand betraying his fear.

“Show yourself, dammit!” he called out.

But there was nothing but the sound of rumbling thunder.

He bit on his lip. Fuck, he hated this!

It was all Harry’s fault. After they’d watched that horror film at Grimmauld Place last weekend with Seamus and Dean, he’d been seeing things everywhere. Even on his nightly rounds of the castle, he now felt uncomfortable. All those dark corners and sinister tapestries...

Ugh. His Gran had been right. He would never watch another scary film, ever again!

His eyes darted along the edge of the Forest again. He just wanted to get out of there.

Backing away slowly, he kept his wand in hand to make sure he wouldn’t be caught unaware by whatever it was that was lurking in the darkness. Just as he spotted the greenhouses in the corner of his eye, he saw it.

A set of evil yellow eyes lit up among the trees!

He gasped. The eyes were much, much too low to the ground to belong to any human. In a split second, he’d made his decision: He ran for it!

Sprinting through the dark, he almost stumbled over the roots of a tree, his feet slipping and sliding in the mud with a squelching sound. Was that the crunch of something running behind him?? He had to get out of there, away from the eyes before they caught him, before they sunk their teeth into him! His heartbeat hammered, he ran for it, the door of the greenhouses almost in sight!

Panicking, he cast one final glance over his shoulder. A shadow was streaking through the dark. His breath caught in his throat, he thought his chest would explode —

With a bang, he flung open the door of Greenhouse A and slammed it shut behind him.

The glass trembled in its frame, but he instantly felt the safety of the wards and the familiar humidity settle over him. As long as he stayed inside, he’d be safe.

He slumped over the nearest workbench, weak-kneed and panting.

What in Merlin’s name had that shadow out there been?

He shuddered. Professor Sprout had sometimes ventured into the Forest to forage for rare saplings, but most of the plants he grew these days needed a more controlled environment and balmier temperatures than the Scottish wilderness could offer. He couldn’t say he was sorry. The Forest had always given him the creeps. He’d take the greenhouses any day!

Looking around at the jungle around him, the shovels and spades and bags of compost, Amazonian Ivyvore winding its way along the roof beams overhead, he felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.

He cast a quick drying charm on himself. This was his favourite place in the whole world.

The rain rattled against the roof, and the only light was the greenish glow of the Effervescent Enoki shrooms in the corner. He briefly considered lighting a lantern but decided against it, not wanting to wake the Mandrakes from their sleep.

Making his way through the greenhouse, he felt quite content. He hummed to himself as he cleared up some clutter on one of the benches, watered some seedlings and gently picked the dried-up leaves off the Puffapods.

A sudden flash followed by a deafening BANG made him jump and drop his watering can, adrenaline rushing through his body. Good Godric, the storm was nearer than he thought!

He’d never enjoyed storms the way some people seemed to find them soothing. When he was a child, he used to beg his Gran to come sleep in his room when there was a storm, but she always refused. “Just pull yourself together!” she’d snap. So he’d cling to his stuffed Kneazle and pull the blanket over his head, hands pressing against his ears.

Some days, when a loud noise made him jump, he wondered miserably if maybe the Sorting Hat should’ve put him in Hufflepuff after all...

Picking his watering can back up, he skirted around the Honking Daffodils and made his way to the Mandrake nursery in the back.

The rain overhead meant he never heard the faint scratching at the door, or the creak of the handle as something slipped in through the crack…

Just as Neville reached out for a pair of protective ear mufflers lying next to the Mandrakes, a silken voice spoke up in the dark.

“Professor Longbottom.”

Everything happened all at once. He squeaked and jumped five feet in the air, bumping into the pots of the nursery, which tumbled over and spilt their contents all over the workbench, ugly newborn roots opening their toothless mouths in a deafening, ear-splitting WAIL as he yelped and whirled around, hands covering his ears, grappling for the ear mufflers.

The screaming, he had to stop the screaming!

“Silencio.”

With an elegant slash of her wand, Professor McGonagall put up a protective silencing spell. In an instant, the volume of the Mandrakes was reduced to zero.

For a few seconds, he just stood panting, facing her.

A tangle of emotions sped through him: fright, confusion, surprise, relief, embarrassment (why did he still have to be wearing his ridiculous dragon tamer’s costume?) and — he groaned inwardly — attraction. Attraction that was all but blazing through him.

The corners of the Headmistress’ mouth twitched in what seemed an awful lot like amusement.

Again, he felt like a mouse caught in a predator’s trap. Swallowing, he willed the tangleweed in his heart to dissipate and smoothed out his hair. He would try to be calm and collected.

“Headmistress,” he nodded, his voice only slightly higher than usual. “You gave me quite a fright there.”

Yes, that was definitely amusement. “Oh, did I?” she responded, leaning back against a workbench.

He couldn’t help but take in her body, so prominently on display. She was still wearing her catsuit, all curving lines and sleekness and oh god _those breasts_!

Blushing, he forced his eyes back up to her face.

“Yes erm, I err, thought you’d still be at the feast…” he trailed off. Why was she here in the greenhouses? And, more to the point, why couldn’t he ever be smooth and suave like Malfoy or any other sane, normal person?!

She looked at him through her eyelashes. “I’m sorry if I frightened you, Professor Longbottom,” she purred. The Scottish roll to her R’s was impossibly seductive. “I just happened to notice you’d left the party and it was hard to focus after that…”

He gulped. The room felt much, much too warm all of a sudden. Was the thermostat broken? Surely it wasn’t usually that hot and humid in here!

“Focus? I... I’m not sure what you mean.”

She sucked in the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth. She had thin lips, classically beautiful. His eyes were riveted on her mouth as she bit down lightly on her lip. Almost as if she were abashed.

But every single cell in his brain screamed out at him that she was anything but abashed. Minerva McGonagall had not been abashed a single moment of her life. Minerva McGonagall was always in control. Always knew _exactly_ what she was doing.

“Mm, focus. You see, I just wanted to come have a word with you about your…” she paused deliberately, “...pumpkins, Professor Longbottom.”

The way her voice dipped when she said his title! He was ready to drop to his knees, beg her to have her way with his pumpkins.

“You see, I appreciate you dropping them off for the feast.” She held his gaze, her lips toying with a smile.

The hint of approval sent his stomach fluttering. Was she pleased with him?

She always looked so imposing, striding through the castle in her dark-green robes and elegant hats, off to a meeting at the Ministry or with the Board of Governors. Powerful. In charge.

He knew they were technically colleagues, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was somehow… not worthy. He’d felt that way ever since his first day as the new Herbology professor. If he were honest with himself, he’d felt that way ever since his first day at Hogwarts as a chubby-cheeked, nervous first year. He had desperately wanted to impress her from day one.

“Oh,” he smiled shyly. “It was my pleasure, Headmistress. Anything to make the students happy.”

 _And you_ , he wanted to add breathlessly, _especially in that outfit!_ But he’d never been _that_ much of a Gryffindor.

She just nodded, taking him in but not responding. She narrowed her eyes. It made her look even more cat-like, like an animal about to pounce.

He was suddenly very aware of his environment. It was humid and hard to breathe. Outside, the branches of a tree scraped like claws against the greenhouse.

He swallowed, nervous. “Was there... anything else?”

“In fact there was, Professor Longbottom. You see, I realise you have not been teaching here very long. But I still expect my staff to set a certain standard. To understand the rules at this school. And to at least _try_ to obey those.”

Her tone was no longer pleased, and she pursed her lips. There was a warning in her eyes.

“The rules, Headmistress?” he stammered. “Do you mean staff helping out with the Feast’s decorations? I… I thought you said you were pleased with me – I mean, with my pumpk- I mean, the pumpkins that I brought? For the decorations?”

She raised an eyebrow at the words stumbling from his mouth. It reminded him of Snape whenever he’d exploded his cauldron again during Potions. As if it was a miracle he hadn’t been born a Squib.

Only Snape never made a perfectly arched disappointed eyebrow look that scary and that sexy at the same time.

“Sure, you delivered some pumpkins. But after you donated those, Professor Malfoy and Professor Flitwick spent the entire afternoon putting the magical mist and light effects into place, while Professor Sinistra was up on the Astronomy Tower sending stay-glo starburst streamers over the castle walls. Even Professor Trelawney managed to chip in, somehow.”

He frowned, sidetracked for a moment. “But I thought Professor Malfoy spent the afternoon in the dungeons? He mentioned something about getting his hair ready for - “

“Kindly do _not_ interrupt me, Professor Longbottom.” Her voice slapped him into silence.

“Yes, Headmistress,” he whispered. Her sternness both frightened him and drew him in. And ooh, his body responded to it.

In one swift movement, she pushed herself off the workbench, coming to stand very close to him indeed.

“Let me rephrase this.” As she spoke, she leaned forward, giving him a maddening view of her cleavage. Her words made his cock twitch.

“I feel you have been… disobedient tonight, Professor Longbottom. And I am very, very disappointed in you indeed.”

He could barely breathe and his head was spinning. Was she hinting at what he thought she was hinting at? Something suddenly made him feel more daring than usual tonight, more reckless.

“I’m terribly sorry, Headmistress.” He could not interpret the feline glitter in her eyes.

“If you’ll allow me, I’ll try to make it up to you. I’ll do anything you want. _Anything_.”

Maybe he was a Gryffindor after all.

The insinuation hung between them in the darkness and humid heat of the greenhouse.

For a few seconds, she didn’t move.

Then she closed the gap between them, pressing her body against his.

He shivered at the sudden contact: apart from the occasional handshake, he couldn’t remember them ever having touched. The latex of her outfit was cool against his bare chest, in a sensual way.

Biting his tongue to muffle his response, he felt his erection grow. In the narrow corridor, there was no way she wouldn’t notice his hardness. A slight angling of her hips against his groin pinned him to the workbench.

“Oh, I fully expect you to make it up to me. Because you’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you… Neville?”

_Oh sweet Calliope._

“And I’m here to teach you a lesson,” she whispered into his ear.

That was it. He’d officially died. And ended up in some kind of sex nirvana!


	3. Proper manners

There he was, alone in a greenhouse with Minerva McGonagall. Headmistress of his heart, catsuit-clad seductress of his cock. He felt giddy with desire.

“Here’s what we’ll do with you, Mr Longbottom,” she lowered her voice dangerously. “Seeing as you’ve obviously miserably failed to learn the rules we apply at Hogwarts, I will send you back to your first day of school, so I may teach you _proper manners_ , as your Head of House.”

He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply to try and keep his arousal in check.

Oh - what was that scent? Highland peat, maybe... Or woollen scarves and some kind of cologne? Thyme? He bent his head towards her, had to get closer, had to chase it.

“You will start by addressing me as Ma’am, or Professor McGonagall. Is that clear?”

“Hhhhhnnn,” he breathed. Her breasts her thighs her hips were pressing against him distractingly, and that scent...

“Neville Longbottom!” Her ringing words made his eyes snap open again.

“I said, _is that clear_ , young man?”

He was right in her classroom again, having his first Transfiguration lesson.

“Y-yes, Ma’am,” he breathed.

“Good boy.” She traced his cheek with her finger, her touch sending shivers of anticipation down his spine. “Now, I take it you read your Hogwarts acceptance letter? Or were you as disobedient at home with your Grandmother as you are here with me?”

“No, Headm-, I mean, Ma’am,” he stuttered as her hand moved to stroke along the curve of his neck. “I read the letter as soon as it was delivered.”

“So _how_ ,” her fingers curled painfully around his neck, “did you fail to notice that Hogwarts has a uniform of plain black robes? Or would you call this outfit appropriate for a school of our standing?”

As she held his neck in her grip, she looked down at his waistcoat and trousers, where the bulge of his hardness betrayed what her tone was doing to him.

“I….”

“I am not interested in your excuses, Mr Longbottom. The only thing I care about is having you respect the rules.”

At that, she suddenly covered his crotch with her other hand, eliciting a gasp from him. As her hand softly stroked him, she clearly enunciated each word.

“I want you. To take off. That offending outfit. _Now_.”

The thermostat was definitely broken. Because he felt hot and flustered as he struggled not to thrust helplessly into her hand, which was doing unspeakable things to him.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he swallowed.

She stepped back to let him undress.

He felt an acute sense of loss at the disappearance of her touch. Oh he would do anything to please her, to feel those hands on his body again!

In one swift movement, he slipped off his waistcoat and let it fall to the ground. The glow of the Effervescent Enoki accentuated the muscles of his torso and his nipples, which hardened as her eyes took him in.

He bent over and undid his laces, stepping out of his boots. Now he was in nothing but Charlie’s trousers, which had been too tight to even consider wearing any underwear that night...

“Those too, Mr Longbottom. You cannot believe I would let a student of my House walk around in such an improper garment?” Her voice was low and seductive. It made him feel like he’d done something wrong. Like he was a naughty child at her mercy.

It made him want to throw himself at her and beg her to fuck him!

With trembling fingers, he undid his buttons and stripped off his trousers.

When he stepped out of them, he stood in front of her completely naked.

It was dark, but there was no mistaking the way his erect cock jutted out from amid the swirl of his pubic hair. Its head glistened with precum. He was more turned on than he’d ever been.

She licked her lips tantalisingly slowly. “Good boy. At least now I have you in the proper uniform I require of my students…”

He shivered, feeling her gaze practically stroking his bare skin.

“I’d like to be a good boy for you… Please tell me how you want me,” he breathed.

She gave him a calculated look, looking every inch the powerful, experienced witch he so admired.

“Your next lesson, Mr Longbottom, is about paying attention to instructions during class. As a student in my class, you will closely observe and participate in any practical demonstrations I arrange.”

At that, she leaned forward to pick up a hand spade from the workbench behind him. His breath hiked as her hips grazed his erection for the briefest of moments.

With a flick of her hand, she wordlessly transfigured the spade into a smooth, dark leather paddle.

His eyes widened. He’d never experimented with physical punishment during sex, but the thought of submitting to her sent a frisson of desire through him.

“Assume the position, Mr Longbottom,” she murmured.

Nervously, he turned around and bent over the bench, the wood rough against his chest. He felt more vulnerable than he ever had, canting his hips to expose himself to her.

The first smack came without any warning. He almost yelped out in shock. A tingling burn spread across his buttocks.

A second smack instantly followed. This time, he gasped openly, wantonly.

“Liking that, are we? Good. I appreciate enthusiastic participation in class.” She was standing closer to him than he realised. Her approval drove him wild, and he had to clench his teeth to refrain from moaning.

When the third and fourth smack came, he couldn’t stop himself.

“Oh fuck!“

Instantly, fingers curled into his hair and yanked his head back. “I beg your pardon? _Language_ , Mr Longbottom. I do not tolerate any swearing from my students!”

His head forced back, he could almost look her in the eyes. “I- I’m sorry, Ma’am. It won’t happen again, I promise!”

“I daresay so.” This was followed by three more swift spanks. His arse felt like it was aflame, but he wasn’t complaining. He’d had worse punishments from his Gran, and he would allow Minerva McGonagall to do anything to him.

“Turn around.”

With trembling limbs, he struggled back up and turned, facing her. He drank in the sight.

She was so incredibly beautiful.

Her body was elegant and lissom, exuding untouchable royalty, the lines around her eyes markers of her wisdom. Where the sleeves of her catsuit ended, her wrists were pale and slender, holding the paddle. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to drink her in. He wanted to taste her, feel her skin against his.

Mesmerised, he reached out. But she twisted away from his grasp and tutted sharply.

“Did I say you could touch me? Rule number four: no inappropriate physical contact on school property. Hands to yourself, Mr Longbottom.”

He let out a low breath in disappointment, his whole body yearning to touch her.

“Work on following directions,” she commanded. “Obedient young wizards should do as I say.”

“Anything,” he whispered fervently, “I’ll do anything.”

And it felt like anything was possible indeed. The rain was still coming down hard, the storm cocooning the two of them in a world of their own amid the seedlings and creeping vines.

He looked at her with hungry eyes, turned on by the thrill of submission and blurred boundaries, the tilted hierarchy between them.

She looked him straight in the eyes when she gave the order.

“Touch yourself.”

His breath hitched. “You want me to….?”

“Did I say you could talk?” she interrupted him. “At Hogwarts, we raise our hand if we have something to say.”

He pressed his lips together.

“Now… Touch yourself. Show me exactly how you like it.” Her gaze roved over his mouth, down his chest, took in his hips, eyed his hard cock.

He took himself in hand. Shyly at first, but the instant he touched himself, pleasure shot through him — like the sting of a Venomous Tentacula, only with nothing of the pain.

More. He needed more.

With steady strokes, he began to masturbate. And she kept watching him.

It felt wrong. Forbidden. Dangerous. It felt incredibly arousing.

Despite the howling wind outside, her earlier Silencing spell lingered, making the slick slaps of his movements clearly audible. His breathing sped up.

And then, right before his eyes, she brought her hand to the zipper of her catsuit.

He started panting.

Inch by inch, she drew the zipper down, revealing more cleavage. The curves of her breasts appeared - skin he wanted to caress, wanted to lick and suck and worship. She kept pulling the zipper down.

His eyes were riveted on its slow, downward trajectory as he thrust his cock into his fist.

He wanted to see her breasts, her nipples. Wanted to have her naked in front of him, but he knew it was not his place to ask. She was in charge here. Beads of precum dripped from his hard length as he kept pleasuring himself.

When the zipper reached just below her navel, she stopped. He grunted in frustration and longing, his hand faltering for a second.

“Please, Professor,” he begged. “I need…”

“Need what, Mr Longbottom?” she whispered hoarsely. “You are here to watch, listen and learn. Not to make demands.”

As her catsuit was skin-tight, he could still only make out the curve of her breasts and the slope of her stomach, little more, despite how far she’d drawn down the zipper.

But then she raised her hands to her breasts and slipped them underneath the unzipped latex. His hand sped up as he watched her caress her breasts, pinching and fondling her nipples. Now her own breathing got heavier as well.

“Professor - Ma’am, please, you’re… you’re so…. fuck!”

“Language,” she panted half-heartedly, but he could make out her pebbled nipples through the latex and he was impossibly hard, could feel his climax building.

“Ma’am,” he gasped as he pumped his hand faster and faster.

She let her head fall back and arched her back, the movement finally parting her outfit over her breasts. A flash of lightning illuminated her: palest skin, hard nipples on display, her body flushed and eager like an animal in heat that begged to be mounted.

When she let out the moan she’d been holding back, it was the most erotic sound he’d ever heard.

And at that, pleasure ripped through his body like the sudden crack of Apparition. The sensation exploding into his veins was a drug with her name on it, wave after wave crashing over him as he spilt his cum over his hand, and he never wanted it to stop, wanted to have her forever. The feeling was so intense his vision blurred.

Afterwards, he slumped forward, legs buckling underneath him. His thighs were sticky with his own seed.

He looked up.

The Headmistress was leaning against the workbench as she zipped herself back up. Only the way her pupils were dark and dilated betrayed her reaction, the shape of her eyes accentuated by the mask she still wore.

She wet her lips with her tongue.

Neither of them spoke for a while, and he wondered how he could tell her it was the best orgasm he’d ever had. He had to physically stop himself from reaching over to touch her, kiss her, press her close to him. Anything to show how much he wanted her.

But as she smoothed out her costume, she straightened her shoulders and slipped back into her role.

“And the final rule, Mr Longbottom: always keep your workspace in class clean and tidy.”

He followed her gaze and saw what she meant: a gloop of cum was sliding down a stack of planters, slowly dripping down onto a bag of potting soil.

Groaning in embarrassment, he bent to clean up his mess. “I’m so sorry, Ma’am,” he breathed, “I’ll fix it straight away.”

He rummaged in the dark to find a rag or some old newspaper, too far gone to know where his wand was at the moment.

“I promise I’ll make sure to — “ but as he looked up, she was gone.

He scrambled up, turning around in confusion, but there was no sign of her. With a sinking heart, he realised he was alone.

Outside, there was nothing but the patter of rain against the roof.

He suddenly felt self-conscious, standing alone stark naked in his greenhouse.

As he bent down to pick up his trousers, he missed the faint creak of the door, through which a shadow of a cat slipped outside, into the night.


	4. I wasn't insinuating anything

When Neville entered the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning, he was almost dizzy with relief to see his pumpkins still there, flickering cheerily in the light of morning. So yesterday’s events hadn’t just been a wet dream!

He quickly walked up to the staff table and sat down between Professor Sinistra and Malfoy.

He wouldn't feel disappointed that the Headmistress wasn’t there yet. He wouldn't. He wasn’t pining, and he certainly wasn’t wondering either whether anything like last night would ever happen again.

“Morning, Malfoy.”

“Longbottom.” The blond took him in as he bit off a piece of buttered toast. “God, you look like shit. Didn’t get much sleep yesterday?” he smirked.

A blush exploded over his cheeks. “Heh. No, erm, you know. Patrolling the corridors after the feast,” he tried to bluster his way out. “Just, students getting up to shenanigans.”

Malfoy wasn’t buying it. He turned around in his seat, giving him his full attention now. “Shenanigans, you say? And what do _you_ know of shenanigans, Longbottom?” The look on his face was one of poor delight and mischief.

He reached over to pour himself some tea and buy some time. “Me? Oh, I eh….”

Right at that moment, the Headmistress strode in briskly through the side doors.

His stomach felt as if a flirt of Snitches was aflutter in it.

But he suddenly yelped out in pain as scalding liquid poured over his fingers. In his distraction, he’d spilled his tea straight over his hand.

“Morning, Aurora,” the Headmistress nodded, taking the seat next to Professor Sinistra. “Professor Malfoy, Professor Longbottom.”

She looked at the hand he was clutching against his chest, his face beetroot red.

“You might want to get that looked at by Madam Pomfrey later, Professor Longbottom. She’ll have some burn salve. And perhaps wipe up that tea, mmm? We do try to keep things _clean and tidy_ here at Hogwarts...”

He drew in a breath. Was she purposefully referencing their lesson last night? But before he could catch her gaze, she’d already turned to chat with Aurora.

Malfoy coughed suspiciously into his cup of coffee.

“What?” Neville bit his lip, flushed.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Just wondering if — “

But the blond’s words were interrupted by the arrival of the morning post. A stately long-eared owl swooped overhead, carrying —

“Oh dear,” Malfoy chuckled, “looks like you’ve got a Howler coming for you, Longbottom. I expect it has something to do with today’s Prophet.”

Mortified, Neville looked at the newspaper Malfoy nudged over at him, just managing to catch the headline “ _Hogwarts Halloween: School Feast Turned Sleaze Fest!_ ” and a picture of himself in his dragon tamer’s costume, before his Gran’s voice blasted through the Hall.

“NEVILLE FRANCIS LONGBOTTOM! YOU ARE A DISGRACE! HOW DARE YOU WEAR SUCH RIDICULOUS GARMENTS! HOLIDAY CELEBRATIONS ARE NO REASON TO GO GALLIVANTING AROUND LOOKING LIKE AN UTTER TART! I WOULD HAVE EXPECTED BETTER SARTORIAL TASTE OF YOU! YOU DESERVE A SPANKING, YOUNG MAN!”

Malfoy was grinning from ear to ear. “A spanking?” he repeated the word as if it Christmas had come early, while snickers arose from the house tables.

His face a tomato, Neville fumbled around desperately for his wand to muffle the shrieking.

“THE HEADMISTRESS MUST BE ABSOLUTELY APPALLED BY YOUR ILL-ADVISED CHOICES. I EXPECT YOU TO APOLOGISE TO HER! PROFUSELY!!!”

When he finally managed a Silencio, he groaned and hid his face in his hands.

“I don’t know how you put up with your grandmother’s incessant interference in your life, Longbottom, I really don’t,” Malfoy tutted. “One would start to think you got off on being bossed around by older witches…”

His head snapped up. “Get off — what are you talking about!" he spluttered. "I don’t get off on - “

The blond’s eyes glittered. “Relax, I wasn’t insinuating anything.” He lowered his voice. “Only I can’t help but notice you made the ‘ill-advised choice’ of going from living with one powerful, bossy older witch to being employed by another…”

He cast a pointed glance at the Headmistress, who’d just risen from her seat.

As she turned around to leave, she addressed Neville over her shoulder without looking at him.

“Professor Longbottom, a word in my office, please.”

Her command left no room for disobedience.

“Enjoy your spanking,” Draco winked at Neville as he scrambled to follow the Headmistress.

With a smug smile, Draco settled back in to read the Prophet.

_ Hogwarts youngest Herbology Professor makes spectacle of himself.  _

_Anonymous sources snapped a picture of Neville Longbottom at the prestigious school’s Halloween Feast yesterday, where the Herbology Professor appeared to be wearing a costume better suited to an adult-only nightclub than an educational establishment._

_Readers may wonder if Longbottom was under the influence of any of the hallucinatory herbs grown in the school’s greenhouses. Or could his outfit have been an attempt to impress someone else at the party? Longbottom’s last known relationship is rumoured to have ended several years ago._

_Yesterday’s scene was allowed to take place under the eye of Hogwarts’ Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, who was unavailable for comment when the Prophet contacted her this morning._

Draco reached to grab a scone, feeling awfully pleased his surreptitious wandwork as he visited Longbottom before the Feast had worked like a charm.

A harmless hint of Legilimency and a quick Befuddlement spell was all it had taken to convince the shy Herbology Professor to go for a slightly more risqué version of his dragontamer's costume than he’d originally planned.

He smiled, liberally spreading marmalade onto his scone.

Sometimes people just needed a little push in the right direction, he thought in satisfaction.

Or a Slytherin colleague to make them act on their darkest, deepest desires.

***

Neville almost tripped over his robes as he hurried to catch up with the Headmistress. She strode towards the stone gargoyles outside her office, not speaking. A strand of hair had escaped from her severe bun. He hungrily took in the way it curled at her neck like a caress.

“Robert Burns” she gave the password, making the statues jump aside.

As the spiralling staircase transported them to her office, his stomach clenched in hot anticipation.

Would she scold him, the way his Gran’s Howler had suggested? In the light of day, he wondered nervously if the liberties he’d taken in the greenhouses the night before had been a terrible idea.

Robes swirling, the Headmistress turned, leaning against her desk. She was the picture of elegance.

Behind her, the whirring instruments she’d inherited from professor Dumbledore sparkled in the morning light filtering in through the windows. They revealed a magnificent view of the mountains beyond the castle.

He stood in the middle of the room, not quite knowing what to do with his hands.

“So,” she spoke, her arms crossed.

He swallowed.

“Headmistress.”

“After that frankly ridiculous spectacle in the Great Hall this morning, what do you suggest I do with you?” She arched one perfect eyebrow. Her green eyes glittered, unreadable.

“I’m terribly sorry,” the words rushed from his mouth. “It won’t happen again, I promise. Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“When you say ‘it won’t happen again,’” she interrupted him, “I can’t help but wonder…” she tapped a fingers against her lips “...if you truly did learn your lesson last night.”

A hint of something flashed behind her eyes.

The breath caught in his throat. Hope blossomed in his chest like Phoenix fire.

“M-my lesson?”

“Mmm,” she hummed languorously. “Perhaps I did not mention it explicitly, but I take it for granted first-year young boys such as yourself know not to _publicly embarrass this institution_.”

His heart soared at their resumed roleplay, and suddenly there was much too much space between them.

“How do you suggest I discipline you, Mr Longbottom?” she asked, looking at him from underneath her lashes.

“I’m not sure, Ma’am,” he breathed, slipping back into last night’s vocabulary with her. “Do you have a suggestion?”

The corners of her lips twitched up into a smirk. “I believe your Grandmother had a few ideas. ‘ _Enjoy your spanking_ ,’ as Professor Malfoy summarised it so succinctly.”

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling broadly.

She pushed herself up and nodded at the edge of the desk.

“You know what to do,” her voice dipped and beckoned him. “Bend over, Mr Longbottom.”

And as he rushed forward to submit to the Headmistress, Neville felt he was the luckiest man alive.

_**THE END** _


End file.
